


The Fable of Three

by annatheginger, SnowCrazy15



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bitchy inquisitor, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Legends, M/M, Romance, Smut, story telling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annatheginger/pseuds/annatheginger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowCrazy15/pseuds/SnowCrazy15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Have I ever told you the story of the time three Legends came together?”</i><br/>"What does that even mean? 'Came together'?”<br/>"It means three of the biggest people in the known world came together to kick righteous ass."<br/>"Varric, that doesn't even make sense."<br/>"Alright, Blondie. Let me put it in a way you'll understand. So a Hero, a Champion, and a Herald walk into a tavern..."</p><p> </p><p>In Varric Tethras' newest bestseller, he relays the riveting true story of the Warden, the Champion, and the Inquisitor coming together for the ultimate quest to cure the Taint and save the world. Filled with adventure, action, angst, sex, and romance, Tethras has written a legendary tale that will surely entertain readers for generations to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Have I ever told you the story of the time three Legends came together?”_

_"What does that even mean? 'Came together'?”_

_"It means three of the biggest people in the known world came together to kick righteous ass."_

_"Varric, that doesn't even make sense."_

_"Alright, Blondie. Let me put it in a way you'll understand. So a Hero, a Champion, and a Herald walk into a tavern..."_

 

The summer had just started to descend on Skyhold, leaving the trees a luscious green and the smell of freshly brewed ale to the air. Corypheus was still a looming threat, darkening the thoughts and souls of those still scrambling for a lick of certainty in a world gone mad. The Inquisitor had long since lost his patience for the day, trampling through the keep like a hurricane, his face set to a thunderstorm and the air around his crackling with barely restrained mana.

He took the steps two at a time, his dire need for the warmth and comfort of a strong drink the only thing in his mind. He stepped through the threshold of the courtroom, his bright eyes flashing as he took in the scattering of nobility, adorned in finery he could never stand. Taking a left, he made for the steps leading to his chambers-

 

_"Wait, I thought you said they walked into a tavern."_

_"It was a figure of speech."_

_"So they're not in a tavern?"_

_"Anders, stop ruining the story! Varric already said they were in Skyhold."_

_"But why mention a tavern?"_

_"It was a joke, Blondie! Now can you stop interrupting? I'm setting the scene."_

 

_"As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted..."_

Our young Inquisitor was eager to get back to his chambers for the evening, completely fed up with the diplomats and dignitaries scattered throughout Skyhold. Frankly, he was fed up with all human interaction and hoped to find a moment for sweet solitude. Of course, nothing ever seemed to go Hamish Trevelyan's way.

"Inquisitor!"

Hamish let out a long groan as the familiar twisted drawl seeped into his escape plans, and more out of habit than anything, he turned.

"Josephine, I really-

"Inquisitor, I'm glad I caught you," continued the Ambassador as if the snarl on Hamish's face hadn't phased her at all. "There are a matters of great urgency that require your attention. First off, Devon Le'Marre has requested-"

"Josephine."

"-that you join him for his monthly banquet in Orlais. This would be the third time-"

"Josephine."

"-that we have turned him down and I really think it's time that-"

"Josephine, for fuck sake – I don't care! Maker damnit, I really, _really_ do not care."

He watched in sick satisfaction as her eyes flashed with restrained anger, her mouth curling into a deep frown. He felt the urge to smirk at her triumphantly, but his mirth was stifled the moment she continued speaking.

"Fine, I will inform Lord Le'Marre of your decision," she deadpanned, eyes narrowing with distaste. "I suppose I could-"

"Fantastic," Hamish interrupted sarcastically, resisting the impulse to roll his eyes.

The Ambassador set him with an unimpressed look, but surprisingly, she didn't seem shocked by it. He almost wished they were back in Haven, when he could have her blanching and fuming with a few quick sentences. That surprise had dimmed somewhat, and now she just looked at him like everyone else did. Like a burning itch to the groin that no salve could ease.

"The second pressing matter... and you're not listening."

Hamish gave the woman a wink, clucking his tongue at the same time.

"Spot on."

Josephine ground her teeth, but Hamish wasn't there to watch, turning on his heel and making a beeline for the door.

Just as his hand brushed the handle-

"Hamish!"

"Are you kidding me?" he roared at no one in particular, turning and throwing up his hands. "What?"

"Leliana has received word that two guests of great importance will be arriving at Skyhold within the week," Josephine spit out quickly, hoping Hamish would absorb her words before she lost his attention again. "She would like to meet with you and discuss the situation, if you would."

Hamish only snorted, withholding any words of acknowledgement. "Is that all?" he asked derisively, enjoying the way the ambassador's mouth tightened from all the words she wanted to say.

"I suppose," she responded venomously. Of course there was more she wanted to discuss – there was _always_ more, but that was all the cooperation Hamish would offer today, and she knew it.

He turned on his heel, rushing away from Josephine before she could change her mind.

Considering he’d always made his disinterest in politics and the like well know, be it sweetly or curtly, it still amazed the Inquisitor that Josephine continued to tell him about it. Surely she could forge his signature by now?

Hamish took the stairs slowly, feeling his body starting to cave from the lack of sleep and the bottle of whiskey from the night before. He wouldn’t have moved at all if Sera hadn’t somehow gotten into his room and stuffed his bed with spiders. The Inquisitor shuddered from the memory. Never in his life had he moved so quickly, or sent something up in flames.

He shoved the door open roughly, kicking off his boots in the same movement. He set his staff by the door, about to pull off his glove when he became acutely aware of the slight tremor in the air that indicated another Fade-touched.

Glancing over at the fireplace, Hamish was unsurprised to see Dorian lounging quite contentedly on the chemise. The Tevinter mage had a crooked smirk on his face, his eyes heavily-lidded with unashamed lust.

"Hello there," he practically purred, standing from his seat. "I was beginning to think you'd never show."

"Well, I'm happy to prove you wrong."

"Aren't you always?" Dorian said, moving closer to the slight Inquisitor. "Nevertheless, you're here now, as am I..."

Hamish returned his grin, feeling his entire body poised to pounce. Although Dorian was frustrating at times _\- infuriating_ , even - he always knew the best ways to help Hamish unwind.

A brush of his fingers against Dorian's chest, teasing and unlatching the buckles found there.  
Without another word, their lips crashed together, a flurry of hands desperate to push away clothing. Leading Hamish to the bed, Dorian offered a dangerous grin before kneeling between his legs, allowing his mouth to-

 

_"Varric."_

_"Come on, it's nothing you haven’t heard before."_

_"Varric!"_

_"Really, Seeker. If you think that's bad, then you are not prepared for the rest of this story."_

_"Is it going to all be about sex?"_

_"Not_ all _about sex."_

_"How do you even know about this?"_

_"The Inquisitor isn't exactly shy about his...experiences."_

_"That's true."_

_"So may I continue?"_

_"Only if you get to the real story."_

_"Oh, Seeker... you always ruin my fun."_

 

It was only two days later that they arrived, the evening gloomy, and the grounds of Skyhold dim and layered with slick mud.

Two hooded figures were allowed through the gate, their silhouettes barely visible in the haze of the rain.

"Finally, we've made it," the larger figure sighed, his voice tired and disgruntled. "I'm ready for a bath and a bed."

The smaller person smiled from beneath her hood, the slightest curve of her lips. "We have to meet with the diplomats first, _vhenan_ ," she reminded him. "We don't even know where our chambers are."

He whined slightly, and the noise was echoed by the hound at his side. "Fine. I'm just glad that no one knows who we are. I'm not prepared to deal with the resulting crowd."

The small figure snorted. "They don't know _yet_."

He gave her an unimpressed look, but it was shadowed by his hood as they stepped further into the keep. The bodies bustling about despite the hounding rain paid them no heed, and for that they were grateful. It was easier than it should have been, infiltrating Skyhold.

After all the rumors about the Inquisition, she was quite surprised at their negligence to security. Surely someone should have picked out two strangers and a dog by now?

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, a figure materialized from behind a building.

“Messeres. The Spymaster is expecting you in the tower. Please, follow me.”

She barely had a chance to look surprised before the figure was turning, stepping with determination towards the main building. Expecting him to turn to the grand staircase, she was surprised to see him heading towards a flat wall. The two figures moved quickly, only to watch the other as he tapped something to the wall and the brickwork dipped. It moved aside in a rumble of grating stone, revealing a small dank, dark passageway.

“Because that’s not ominous,” muttered the figure to her side and she couldn’t stop another quirk of her lips.

Following the cloaked figure was harder than it first seemed, considering they were engulfed in darkness as soon as they stepped between the stone.

She looked at the other, her hand shooting out to find him when she realized she could no longer trust her eyes. Her hand came to the rough material of his cloak, and a soft noise was reassurance enough, despite the way his roughened hand sought blindly for her own slender fingers.

Finally, a dim light broke through the darkness, the tiniest hint of light peeking through the cracks of a wall. The figure in front of them tapped the wall, revealing another hidden door that led to a drafty loft. Birds cawed around them as they took in the mixture of dank air and little sunlight. Feathers drifted lazily around them, disturbed by their heavy feet as they were lead further into the oddly warm room.

At a table near a small window sat another hooded figure, the slim silhouette pouring over scattered papers. She knew immediately who it was, and the realization was enough to make her giddy despite her exhaustion.

How long had it been? Years? Decades? Too long.

They approached the table, her excitement catching the greeting in her throat. There was a new air about her, something decidedly more secretive, but like the woman she had known and loved decades ago, Leliana was always one step ahead.

"You're late."

The words were quickly accompanied by a flash of startling silver eyes before her lips quirked into a smirk, merging into a delighted giggle.

It was a comforting sound, like coming home after months adrift at sea.

"Only to keep you on your toes, dear spymaster," the woman said as Leliana stood, a similar smirk curling her lips.

Without another word, Leliana held her arms open wide for the two guests, a silent invitation.

She couldn't stop herself, already braced on the tips of her toes. She dove like a bird to flight, launching herself into the familiar embrace. Leliana laughed again and she realized after a moment that her own sweet trill was echoing her.

"It's been so long," gushed Leliana, her voice taking an emotional edge that drew the attention from the others in the tower.

"Far too long," replied the humored baritone behind them, before the other figure was quick to join the hug.

"You've got grey in your hair," teased the Spymaster, pulling down the man's hood to reveal a dusting of silver in his ashen blond hair.

The man scoffed, rolling his amber eyes. "Thanks for that, Leli," he said, a small pout appearing on his face. "I know I'm old."

"I'm afraid that we're all old, now," the still-hooded woman said, her voice laced with amusement. Her slender hands reached up, pulling the fabric down and shaking out her hair. "After all, the Inquisitor is - what, eighteen?"

"May I remind you that we weren't much older when we faced our own war," Leliana scolded them, her fingers reaching out to touch her friend's brown hair, so much longer than it was when they first met. It was an impulse, really, to assure herself that they were both really here, and not just dreams that so often morphed into nightmares.

The slighter woman smiled gently, the faded lines of vallaslin on her cheeks crinkling with the gesture.

They took a moment to drink each other in, three sets of disbelieving eyes shadowed with the knowledge of dark times past and the uncertain future ahead. Leliana's smile soon slipped, as if she'd read something telling in her dear friend's earthen green eyes.

"Fera, I'm so happy you're here," she said slowly, turning to the other and gently cupping his stubbled cheek.

"But why?"

Fera took a long breath, leaning into the taller figure unconsciously seeking support.

"Leli, we need to see the Inquisitor."

The Spymaster looked them both over, nodding before she raised a hand. Within moments, a cloaked figure was by her side, their face obscured by a dark hood.

"Summon the Inquisitor."

"Yes, mistress. What, uh, if he...?"

Leliana snorted through her nose. "If he refuses? Tell him that the Hero of Ferelden is waiting."


	2. Chapter 2

His back tingled from the residue markings etched into his skin and the Inquisitor let out a small breath as he rolled his shoulders. The climb to the top of barracks should not have made his thighs ache as they did, but he supposed the pain was inevitable after spending so much time on his knees.

The thought made him smirk as he made it to the top, leaning against the edge of the high walls of Skyhold and pulling out the thick, paper-wrapped smoke from his jacket. With a lazy flick of his fingers, he called forth a simple flame and lit the end, watching the thin stream of smoke as it ignited.

The first inhale was always the one to break the barriers, edging down his throat with the sharp taste of earth and soil. He held it in his lungs for a few moments, releasing it in one long breath.

The sky was starting to darken and the smoke stood prominent against the twilight. It was in these moments he really thought back to how lucky he was, that he had such wonderful friends and had vanquished the enemy-

 

_"Oh come on!"_

_"Hamish would never think that."_

_"It's true, he wouldn't."_

_"Hey, if the Inqusitor didn't have wonderful friends like me then who would tell his story?"_

_"What about all the bards writing songs about him?"_

_"Or that new book entitled The Life of Inquisitor Trevelyan."_

_"Or-"_

_"Alright, alright I get it."_

_"Just tell the story honestly, Varric."_

_"Fine. But being inside the Inquisitor's head isn't the prettiest place to be."_

_"You don't need to tell us twice."_

 

...It was in these moments that he really enjoyed the luxury of solitude, the feeling of being completely disconnected from other people and responsibility. With each drag of the blunt, he felt himself floating further and further away from everything that tethered him to the earth.

As his fingers brushed the clouds, cold reality brought him crashing to the ground in the form of a faceless minion.

"Inquisitor?"

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

The figure, wearing the looming shadows like a second skin, raised an eyebrow and gave him a look that made Hamish want to stick out his tongue.

"Lady Nightingale has asked for you."

"Then she can keep asking."

"It's of the highest importance," urged the other.

"I couldn't give a nug's bollocks-"

"She also told me that should you be so inclined to refuse the offer, that I should mention Feralyn Mahariel also wishes to speak with you."

Hamish frowned, cutting himself off from another smart reply. The way the minion said that name made him rethink the importance of it. Where had he...

The cloaked figure smirked as Hamish's eyes went wide.

"You've got to be shitting me."

The figure simply stared at him, insinuating that he was, in fact, _not_ shitting the Inquisitor. "Lady Nightingale expects your prompt arrival," he concluded, walking away and leaving a dumbfounded Hamish in his wake.

"...the shit?" Hamish breathed, staring at the smoking joint between his fingers. Surely he had been hallucinating. There's no way the Hero of Ferelden could be here. No fucking way.

Burning with an annoyance born from disbelief, Hamish flicked the smoke over the marlons and leaving it to plummet to the icy path below. He moved with an effortless grace down the ladders, the stairs, before finally reaching the threshold of the main keep.

As he took the right towards the door that lead to the library and ultimately up to Leliana's nest, Hamish was abruptly stopped by a tall, lean, caramel-skinned Tevinter. A caramel-skinned Tevinter that he was certainly in no mood for.

"What's the rush, darling?" quipped Dorian, giving Hamish a slow predatory grin made only to goad him into something more obscene. Hamish was in no mood to play.

"Fuck off, Dorian," Hamish spat out without a second thought. "Not now."

Although Dorian's smirk didn't falter, Hamish didn't miss the way the Tevinter's eyes darkened with a flash of anger. "Now, now," he murmured, shaking his head, "is that any way to greet a friend?"

Hamish drew his head back, breathing in a stunned breath.

"Oh," he said, his eyes widening and lips curving into a perfectly chastised pout. "I'm sorry. Fuck off, _friend_."

This time, Dorian frowned. "What's got you so... flustered?" he asked the slight Inquisitor, sounding genuinely curious.

"I don't get flustered," Hamish corrected, his words dripping with sweet venom. "But if you must know, the Hero of Ferelden is here to see me."

"Oh?" Dorian breathed, clearly not expecting that answer. "Now that's intriguing."

Hamish rolled his eyes, moving to step around the taller man. Dorian didn't move to block him, so without another word, Hamish continued forward. It only took a few steps for him to realize that the Tevinter was following him, but being so _flustered_ Hamish didn't rightly care.

Hamish thundered through the main courtroom, pointedly ignoring the man trying to stand at his side. As he stepped into the library, his eyes were drawn to the array of colors lining the walls, creating flowing images that he could never quite understand.

"Inquisitor."

Hamish stopped briefly to look at the elf, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Hello, Solas," he greeted, his words dripping with disdain. Solas' eyebrow raised, his frown deepening. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hamish let out a very unflattering snort, already edging towards the small alcove that gave way to the stairs leading up the tower.

"No pleasure," he said quickly, giving Solas his famous nasty smirk. "Not this time, love." With a wink that made the elf scoff, Hamish stepped into the alcove and took the steps two at a time.

With Dorian on his heels, Hamish made his way to the drafty loft at the top of the tower where Leliana resided. He could feel unease settle in his chest as he neared the top, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his gut. It was unnerving, considering Hamish was usually the biggest presence in the room. He never liked the attention, but he'd grown used to it. Everyone had to put up with his shit, despite everything, and thus leaving him without a filter. Now, though, there was a far bigger jewel in the room and it would draw every eye. Because that jewel? It was real, sparkling. Everyone would realise that Hamish didn't sparkle, he just reflected the light. He was a shiny stone, at best.

Hesitating slightly at the wooden door, he mustered his courage and put on his toughest scowl, hoping to make an intimidating impression on the his "guest of great importance." Even if she was as impressive as everyone made her out to be, he still needed her to understand that _no one_ fucked with him. Not even the Hero of Ferelden.

He pushed the door open aggressively, letting its offensive _slam_ introduce him. From Leliana's workbench, three heads whipped to the source of the noise with surprise.

Hamish straightened his back, jutting out his chin, striking a damn good pose in his opinion. Sadly, it didn't last long, as an annoyingly tall Tevinter hadn't seen his pause for dramatic effect. Dorian barreled past him, knocking him into the doorframe to positively drool over the small, mousy looking woman turning to face them.

Her bright green eyes blinked at them for a silent moment, obviously shocked by their chaotic entrance. As her expression slowly evened out, she stepped towards the pair, the inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow annoying him.

"Feralyn Mahariel," Leliana murmured, stepping alongside the elf, "I'd like you to meet our Inquisitor, Hamish Trevelyan."

She didn't respond immediately, allowing her sharp gaze to scan his face. It was unsettling to say the least. She had the air of someone who could see every weakness, every flaw in the blink of an eye. She _knew_ him from just a glance, yet he could barely decipher anything from her passive expression.

He felt on display, vulnerable, and it made simple rage boil within him.

"A pleasure,” she finally acknowledged the introduction, her voice soft and unexpectedly comforting. She extended her hand into the space between them for him to shake, the Dalish tattoos around her eyes lifting with a slight smile.

Hamish could _feel_ Dorian next to him, radiating an excited energy that did nothing to dull the sharp annoyance he felt towards the woman before him.

"And to what do I owe this _pleasure_?" he asked, his voice running smooth and even, reaching out one gloved hand to take hers and shake firmly.

"My Lady," burst Dorian, the words escaping despite himself, and Hamish turned to him, quirking an eyebrow, his piercing blue-grey eyes narrowing. Dorian either didn't notice or didn't care, shoving himself forward and blocking the slight Inquisitor from view. Hamish glared at the man's back as he began to babble to the woman, and finally he cast his eyes around.

That was when he noticed the other one. And his eyes brightened.

The large man had a stony expression on his face, his amber eyes trained on Dorian as he flitted around the Warden. But despite his hostile demeanor, he was still easily one of the _yummiest_ men Hamish had ever seen.

With unabashed interest, Hamish's gaze trailed along the man's strong, sharp jaw, the rough reddish-blonde stubble dusting his face only adding to his tempting appearance. He towered over everyone else in the room with his broad shoulders and thick neck and furrowed brows. Hamish could only wonder what other delightful things were hidden _under_ the man's cloak.

After a ridiculous amount of time, he finally seemed to notice Hamish's obvious ogling. A slow, predatory grin spread over the Inquisitor's features, and the honeyed eyes looking at him widened briefly. Hamish slipped past the Tevinter (who was now shaking the Hero's hand vigorously) and stopped just short of the man before him.

"Hello," said Hamish sweetly, his eyes taking in the man's build from a closer range.

"Uh… hi," squeaked the other, his body seemingly losing the defensive stance from before, his shoulders hunching as he took an unsteady step backwards.

"And who might you be?" Hamish practically purred, loving the way the man couldn't meet his eye.

He straightened slightly, "I'm - ah," he began but his voice cracked before he could finish. To Hamish, his nervousness was unbelievably adorable. Before Hamish could make a coy remark - _“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"_ \- the man cleared his throat and started again, "Alistair Theirin."

Hamish felt his eyes widen a little, but the man didn't seem to be finished in his explanation.

"Theirin, Alistair. My name is Alistair… Theirin. A-"

"Yes, sweetheart, I got that," cut in Hamish smoothly, considering the man looked like he was forgetting his own name. Hamish's smiled widened, because he knew he'd flustered the man and wasn't that just deliciously cute.

"I take it you're _the_ Alistair Theirin?" asked Hamish, his smile still wide as his eyes took in every small uncomfortable shift of the man's tanked body.

"Uh, yes, I'm - ah - Alistair Theirin." The man seemed defeated at yet another repetition, and Hamish felt a small chuckle rise up his throat.

Glancing over, Hamish noticed the that Leliana, Feralyn, and Dorian had stopped their chatting to watch the exchange between the two men.

The elf looked sympathetic - but bemused - as she watched her lover blush and fumble. Stepping toward him with a soft smile, she took his large hand in her own as a gesture of comfort.

Hamish let out a grand sigh, rolling his eyes as he noticed _Alistair Theirin_ 's tense face relax as he looked at his slight elf. Though Hamish had always thought the tales of their epic romance seemed exaggerated and far-fetched, that single look between them just confirmed every single one. It was enough to make Hamish nauseated.

He took a step back, taking the hint, but not before sharing a small wink the amber eyes still watching him.

"So what can I do for you?" asked the Inquisitor, feeling rather chipper at the appearance of this surprising hunk of meat.

The slight woman turned to him, her face serene but eyes still irritatingly sharp. The air around them seemed to thicken and Hamish felt the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," said Feralyn heavily, her expression moving from serene to neutral.

"We need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the feedback on the first chapter! Please continue to let us know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

_ “We need your help.” _

Hamish raised an eyebrow, feeling the weight of that one request sitting heavily on his shoulders. It wasn't an uncommon thing for him to hear, in fact from his experience, everyone was after something. It was the bane of his existence, and had drawn more and more of his icy tongue to the surface. It had gotten so bad at one point, all the begging and sobbing, that Dorian had had to drag him from the throne room before he'd kicked a whimpering simpleton in the face.

Yet this request, be it simple or grand, seemed to have a far more daunting feel to it. Foreboding. 

The Hero of Ferelden and her Grey Warden lover, coming to the Inquisitor for help. A woman who had killed the Archdemon, who had brought together an entire nation, who had won the love of the people - was coming to  _ Hamish  _ for help. If the atmosphere wasn't so dire, he would have cackled at the irony. As it was, everyone was looking at him and Hamish had to wipe a small smirk off his face. 

"Sorry, yes. Help with what?"

Feralyn's face darkened slightly, not having missed the slight amusement in Hamish's expression. It was an expression she had seen many times from many men, though it never ceased to make her skin crawl. However, she  _ did  _ enjoy the way his eyes flashed with uncertainty as he caught the unimpressed look on her face.

Hamish narrowed his eyes slightly, and there was a moment where the air tightened, tensed, and he saw the three other figures hunch their shoulders. 

Before anyone could draw weapons ( _ a common reaction around the Inquisitor, who'd have thought? _ ) and turn the situation dark, Dorian stepped between the two smaller legends. 

"We would be honoured to assist you, in anyway we can," he said smoothly, his voice filled with that familiar certainty that seemed to tide the others over enough for them to take a collective breath.

Feralyn's eyes flashed to the Tevinter mage before letting her stance relax, though her expression remained stern and distrustful. "Yes, well," she said slowly, letting the tension in the room diffuse as she spoke. "Alistair and I have actually been looking for a cure."

"A cure?" Dorian interjected immediately, unable to stifle his nosy nature.

Feralyn straightened her spine, as though she begrudged revealing any further information. Dorian kept his expression open and his body firmly in front of the smaller mage, leaving him to huff indignantly behind him. 

"A cure... for the Taint, I assume?" 

Feralyn looked up into Dorian’s face, a small flicker of emerald eyes, before giving one quick nod. 

"Fera and Alistair believe they have a clue in finding a cure," repeated Leliana, edging her way into the conversation. The atmosphere fizzled and deflated even more, the Spymaster seemingly being their common ground, and Hamish stilled a little at his back.

"Are you sure?" asked the Tevinter, trying not to huff as he felt something connect harshly to the back of his leg. 

"Isn't it supposed to be incurable?" cut in the soft, rounded voice of the Inquisitor, using Dorian's slight falter from the kick to his calf to step forward and once again be part of the little gathering.

"...Supposedly," Feralyn answered, the word drawn out as she carefully chose her next words. "But we have reason to believe that's not necessarily true." 

"So what does this have to do with me?" Hamish asked irritably, folding his arms across his chest.

Leliana turned her head and was no doubt giving him a very piercing look, but Hamish was still waiting for an answer. Feralyn hadn't answered his question, but was looking at him again with a new intensity that made his skin crawl. 

"You have the resources that we do not," said the elven woman after a long pause, making him want to scoff. 

"So its money you're looking for then?" he replied with a sneer, causing Dorian to let out some horrified noise to his left. 

Hamish turned to the man, huffing.

He noticed that Alistair had stiffened next to his lady, his large hands clenching into fists as he glared daggers at the Inquisitor. 

"No," Feralyn said evenly, her unchanging expression making Hamish uneasy. By now, people were usually screaming at him with red faces, completely fed up with his snark and blatant disrespect. Make no mistake - she was  _ definitely  _ fed up with him, but it certainly didn't show. Not only was that disappointing to the Inquisitor, it was positively  _ maddening _ . "We need information, Inquisitor. Locations, able bodies. Perhaps some assistance from the impressive team you've assembled."

Hamish opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to the point by his Spymaster. 

"We would be honoured to help you, Fera," she started, and Hamish shook his head. 

"Hold on a bloody minute," he snapped, getting pretty fucking fed up with everyone talking over him. "You come here, to  _ my  _ keep, to ask me for all of this. Everything you need, we have. But this is not your land, Hero. We are not your people. You can come in here and demand anything you want - but that's all it is. Demands. I won't follow a demand. I will, however, make a bargain."

Hamish gave Dorian a side-glance, surprised to see the slack jawed, wide-eyed expression on his face. He sighed heavily, unable to deal with Dorian right now. Not when he was feeling so... Maker help him,  _ flustered _ . 

"What will the Inquisition get in return for helping you?”

The three people in front of him looked just as dumbfounded as Dorian, their mouths agape with surprise. 

"Now wait a minute," Alistair began, the first time he had spoken in quite a while. This time, however, his timidity was completely absent, replaced by blatant disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Hamish answered, watching as Feralyn grimaced from Alistair’s side. It was surprisingly satisfying to witness.

Alistair's eyebrows furrowed with agitation and confusion. "Don't you get it? We're talking about a cure. For the  _ Taint _ . And you want us to  _ bargain  _ with you?"

"That's correct."

Alistair let out a flurry of stuttering noises before a rush of red ran up his cheeks, and those once warm honeyed eyes turned to steely amber. 

"Do you have any  _ idea _ what this would mean? For the Wardens? For Thedas?"

Hamish raised an eyebrow, his expression as calm as the sky before a storm. 

"I've seen what it does to Wardens," he said, his tone icy. "What it drives them to. Are you going to follow in their footsteps and turn to violence?" His voice was laced with a dark sarcasm that had everyone in the room bristling. 

Hamish shrugged.

"You... you  _ unbelievably _ ... arrogant little bastard!" snapped the taller man, his body practically quivering from his anger. Hamish felt the flickering, familiar sting in his hand as his mark flared under the leather glove. 

"Don't you  _ dare  _ insult me."

Dorian stiffened by the Inquisitor's side, completely baffled by how quickly this had escalated. "Hamish..."

"Shut the fuck up," Hamish hissed, feeling cold adrenaline creeping up his spine. The mark pulsed again, its invisible energy gushing into the room.

Alistair's eyes widened a millisecond later, a flicker of panic twisting his features. It wasn't a response Hamish was expecting. Alistair was a warrior, after all. 

However, his confusion dissipated the moment he felt something in his chest - a dull, cold grip that was incredibly uncomfortable, if not vaguely familiar. Before he could process what was happening, the grip tightened exponentially, turning the blood in his veins to ice. 

"What... the...  _ fuck _ ?" he choked out as his mana rapidly escaped him. "You're a fucking  _ templar _ ?"

Dorian let out a strangled gasp next to him, confirming that the man had dissipated the mana from the room. 

"Fuck!" snapped Hamish as the mark flared again, called up from the threat of whatever Alistair had done. And it had been the taller man, because even though his eyes were wide, his expression was unwavering. 

The mark burned green even under the leather, sending another short burst of energy into the room. The icy, hollow grip in the core of his body only tightened, and the Inquisitor gasped, stepping back. 

Pain; sharp and hot and fierce, raced down his arm and to the tender skin of his chest, bolting up his neck and down his stomach. 

"Stop!" snapped Dorian, his features contorted as he no doubt felt the same hollow hold on his own core. 

Then it was gone. 

Hamish let out some kind of noise, falling back against a table, the force of his stumble sending the crows around them into a frenzy. He stood there for a moment, breathing, wincing as the residue pain still blazed over his body.

"Alistair, what-?" Fera asked, looking alarmed after the chaotic exchange.

"What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you?" Hamish practically screamed, his arm still burning with pain. He had  _ never  _ felt the anchor burn like that, like it was trying to protect itself from harm. Like it was its own entity. 

Alistair didn't falter, didn't back down. His resolve would have been impressive if Hamish wasn't so incredibly infuriated.

"He was going to attack," said Alistair flatly, leaning into the shorter woman with his eyes still trained on the groaning Inquisitor. 

Feralyn didn't gasp, her hand didn't fly to her mouth in shock. Instead her head whipped around fast enough for her earthen brown hair to twist around her face. Her eyes were glistening with some kind of emotion, even as her face remained stoic.

"What?" the elf asked, her calm voice concealing a violent rage.

"Hamish?" asked Leliana, the disbelief in her tone marred by a sudden flare of outrage. 

"I was not fucking attacking!" hissed Hamish, brows furrowed as he battled the nausea threatening to overcome him. Everything burned, the mark still spasming in his skin as if it was preparing for another onslaught of absorbing anti-mana. 

Dorian seemed to have gathered himself enough to stand tall, even though his lips were pursed. His face was also a shade lighter, a small gathering of sweat on his forehead. 

"That's wasn't his mana," said the Tevinter slowly, and Hamish nearly bore his teeth at the infuriatingly diplomatic mage. "That was the Anchor."

Alistair exhaled sharply through his nose in response, obviously not expecting that explanation. "It... was?"

Hamish wanted to lunge, wanted to tear the bastard's throat out to make him hurt as much as he hurt. But then there was Dorian's hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm and calm, even when faced with the practically feral Inquisitor.

Fera's eyes fluttered closed in exasperation, her eyebrows knitting together. "How did we get here...?" she asked herself aloud, her voice pained.

Hamish bristled, feeling the hand on his shoulder tightening. He glanced up at Dorian, a streak of green running in veins through his blue-grey eyes before fading and leaving them simmering with anger. 

"Keep your fucking brute under control," seethed Hamish, keeping his left arm close to his chest as the pain still pulsed in erratic bursts. "I've had enough of this shit. Find your own fucking cure."

The Inquisitor didn't bother to look into their faces, knowing he was very close to snapping. Instead he turned, his black coat billowing behind him as he thundered down the walkway and into the arch that gave way to the stairs. 

Dorian sighed heavily, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation before turning to the three figures still standing in shock. 

"He's rather... spunky. Let him calm down. I'm sure he'll see sense."

Dorian tried a smile, but it was forced, the loss of his mana making his limbs feel heavy. With what could be interpreted as a respectful bow, the Tevinter took his leave, following the same blazing trail Hamish had made moments before.

Fera turned to Leliana, her emerald eyes glistening in the faint light. Alistair rolled his shoulders, his pupils still large as he took a step to her side. It was not how she wanted this meeting to go, but then again, she hadn't been planning on the Inquisitor being so... young. 

"That could have gone better," said Leliana, voicing the concerns they all harboured. Alistair gave out a grunt, but she could see the slight pale edges to his features that told her the use of his Templar abilities, as watered down as they were, had drained him.

Taking his hand in a small gesture of comfort, Fera let out a tired sigh. "Do you think he'll change his mind?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding desperate. Despite her best efforts, Alistair caught on to the tension in her words and squeezed her hand softly. 

"I am... not entirely sure," Leliana answered, knowing for a fact that the young Inquisitor rarely changed his mind - and whenever he did, it was usually for some ulterior motive. "All we can do is give him time."

Sighing again, Fera's eyes flickered to Alistair's face briefly, a sense of dread settling in her stomach. Time was a precious commodity, she had learned, and the two of them were running out of it.

"You will stay? For a few days," asked the Spymaster gently, drawing Fera's attention back to her old friend. The Hero gave the woman a small smile, a tender smile, because she really had missed her. In a gesture that surprised herself, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around Leliana's waist, pulling her tight. 

"Of course. Perhaps we could try and convince the boy in the meantime, hm?"

"It would... be delicate," Leliana murmured, releasing the small elf from her embrace.

"I've gathered that," Fera added sarcastically. Glancing back at Alistair, she noticed his face had paled slightly, indicating his exhaustion from the events of the day. She could only guess that she looked similarly haggard, seeing as she felt weariness down to her very bones. "But for now, I think we should retire for the night."

Leliana gave her a small, knowing smile, before raising one arm. As if she had rang a bell, another cloaked figure materialised beside her, bowing their head so that their features weren't in the light. Internally, Feralyn laughed. Leliana had trained these spies too well. 

"Goodnight, Leli," she said gently, and Leliana nodded her head.

"Goodnight, Fera. Alistair."

* * *

 

The moment the door shut behind them, they both slumped onto the bed with a groan, their unshed armor clacking from the impact. Fera curled away from him with a soft sigh, asking, "Get the buckles for me?"

Alistair let his eyes open slowly, the amber depths unfocused even as he shifted onto his side. His metal plate hidden by the cloak dug into his side, but in all honesty there was no part of his skin that had gone unchaffed after so long on the road. His fingers were clumsy as he pulled at the buckles he'd memorised from the amount of times he'd undone them and put them together again, and he didn't even have the energy to chuckle at his own mental joke. 

Instead he pulled them apart, forcing himself to focus until Feralyn gave out a sigh as the tough leather gave way and she could breathe properly.

She shifted back towards him with a contented smile, throwing the leather pieces onto the floor lazily. "Turn," she commanded him before working at his own armor latches.

Alistair gave out a whiny grunt as he forced his body to the other side, letting his eyes flutter closed as her nimble fingers worked at the bindings behind his cloak until the metal around him loosened enough for him to sit. He started to tug at the clothes as if he were being suffocated by them, and a quick glance told him Fera was doing the same. Despite the lack of energy, the two of them wanted to be rid of their heavy gear more, and it took them less than three minutes to be in nothing but their smallclothes.

When all was shed and thrown on the floor, they curled into each other's arms, Fera's cheek pressed against his firm chest. She could feel the tension in his embrace as they lay there, and when she glanced up at his face, his eyebrows were furrowed with pain.

"Is it your head again?" she asked, reaching a hand up to touch his jaw. 

He blinked his eyes open to look down at her, a small smile on his face in an attempt to soothe her worry. She could see right through him, of course. 

"Alistair."

"It's just... annoying," he said, his tone light even as it was laced with truth. There was a tightening in her stomach and her hands moved up to his temple, running small circles with the pad of her finger. The man let out a long breath, leaning down to burrow his face in the curve of her neck. 

"Tell me again."

Fera felt the words run up her body, his warmth breath sending a rush of goose flesh down her skin. She knew what he wanted to hear. 

" _ Tel'enfenim, da'len. Ma garas mir renan - ara ma'athlan vhenas _ ," she cooed to him, her words sweet and almost song-like. She felt him place a soft kiss against her neck in silent thanks. " _ Ar lath ma _ ."

"I love you, too," he whispered back, his voice strained. "So, so much."

Fera felt her throat threatening to close, the emotion sitting heavy in her gut. Wrapping her arms around him, she managed to shift them enough so that they lay wrapped as one on the bed. She knew what it meant to love him, she always did. The burden of his heart in her palm equal to the fear of hers within his. 

Alistair wrapped himself around her so that she cradled him, and in the fading light of the room, there was no space for pride. He sought her comfort as she revelled in his, and despite the weight of their fate resting on them, Feralyn and Alistair took a moment to leave it behind and rest as they deserved to.

The sun set, and one more day was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been forever. To make it up to you, things are now moving in a more... M rated direction.

Hamish threw his hands in front of him, the force of his magic sending the wooden doors against the wall with a crack. He felt a splinter or two brush against his coat, but he continued unphased. His body was burning with the pain, his ego screaming from the compromising position that _fucker_ had put him in. And then they had the gaul to fucking ask him for _help?_ After doing _that?_ They could certainly fucking try.

"Move!"

The servant girl let out a yelp before launching herself against the wall as Hamish continued on his warpath, the magic from his core simmering around his body, causing a shimmer to the air as he moved.

He could feel Dorian following him closely, his annoying presence always two steps behind. He was one of the last people Hamish wanted to see right now, yet there he was. Dorian truly had a knack for being where he wasn't wanted.

As he rushed up the stairs to his chambers, he had half a mind to turn around and throw fire at the Tevinter.

As soon as they were hidden by the small walkways, Hamish turned on his heel with his hand raised. A ball of shimmering white magic in his palm bumped his chest as he bumped into him. The Tevinter cursed as the lightning ran up his chest, and Hamish took a moment to glare.

"What?" hissed the Inquisitor, his mood black.

"You know we need to talk about this," Dorian answered, his voice wary but firm.

 _"We_ don't need to do shit," Hamish spat back, his eyes narrowing. _"I_ need a smoke, on the other hand."

With those words, the Inquisitor whipped back around before Dorian could reply, continuing towards his room and hoping Dorian had the sense not to follow.

As he shoved open the doors to his chambers, the heavy footsteps at his heel told him that Dorian was certainly playing with fire, but Hamish had one mind. He dove for the drawer by his bed, searching inside before his fingers came across the smooth rolled paper and he felt a rush of relief run through him.

Without another word, Hamish turned and filled his palm with fire and lit the smoke, inhaling it so deep that his lungs threatened to rebel.

He heard Dorian scoff from behind him, an irritating reminder that he was present. "Hamish, really," Dorian sighed.

Hamish didn't turn to face him, nor did he respond. Letting the smoke out of his lungs with one slow, drawn-out breath, he felt some of the tension in his muscles dissipate. It was just the feeling he had been craving, especially after all of the day's bullshit.

Putting the smoke between his teeth, Hamish reached up to pull off his staff, his coat, and sitting on the edge of his bed to kick off his shoes.

"Don't like, then don't fucking watch sweetheart," he mumbled, taking another long drag and letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed it out.

"This is serious," said Dorian, his sharp tone only emphasizing his words.

"Yeah, well," Hamish continued bitterly, "so is Corypheus."

Dorian's eyes flashed, and Hamish gave the man a wickedly dark smirk.

"This is serious, too, Hamish. Why can't you understand that?"

Hamish got to his feet, the smoke between his fingers as he let his eyes turn murderous.

"What? Because that tiny little bitch turns up and demands it? Her and her templar fuck-boy? No thank you. Templars can go and suck an Ogres' spike for all I care."

"That 'tiny little bitch' saved all of Ferelden," Dorian snapped back, a hint of his previous fangirling seeping into his words.

"I don't really care. I just want them out of my stronghold."

"You're absolutely awful, you know that?"

Hamish's lips curled up slightly around his smoke. Of course he knew that.

"And yet..."

Hamish took another long drag of his smoke before moving forward a step. He let his body go languid, turned his smirk biting.

"And yet you're still standing here, brooding. In fact... you keep coming back." Hamish cocked his head, loving the way Dorian's body snapped taut, his eyes turning wary even as a small dusting of colour rose up his cheeks. "Haven't you learned your lesson by now, Dorian?"

"Apparently not," Dorian answered with self-loathing, though his voice was already slightly deeper in tone.

Hamish only grinned, placing a palm against the magister's chest. He loved getting this reaction out of Dorian, the subtle change in demeanor that proved he was completely under the Inquisitor's spell.

"This isn't what I came here for," Dorian warned.

"No?" asked Hamish sweetly, bringing the smoke to his lips and inhaling. He pressed himself closer as he exhaled, blowing the smoke into Dorian's face. "But it's what you keep coming back for."

Dorian's eyes turned black as he reached up, one strong hand grabbing the Inquisitor by the throat. Hamish felt his heart flutter, but his expression didn't change.

"I really fucking hate you sometimes," he growled, a sound that went right to Hamish's crotch. The Inquisitor let a smirk crawl over his features.

"And yet you crave me all the same."

"Not so much a craving," Dorian said. "More like an irritating itch." He punctuated his words with the tightening of his fingers on Hamish's windpipe.

Hamish's widening grin only made that itch more intense. "You flatter me, sweetheart."

The Tevinter leaned down, filling Hamish's line of sight as the fingers around his neck twitched, and he knew Dorian wanted to cause him pain. It was a reaction he'd seen before, but one the man had never really followed - no matter how much Hamish pushed.

"You were very rude to such an important person, Inquisitor," said Dorian slowly, his voice taking that deliciously deep tone that sent rivets of tingles down Hamish's spine.

"So she saved Thedas, big whoop. I'm going to do the same."

Hamish felt the pressure increase on his windpipe increase, and a flutter of panic mingled with a rush of heat.

" _Very_ rude."

"Hm, I suppose you'd like to punish me, then?"

Dorian exhaled heavily through his nose, making a noise akin to a snarl. "I'd like to do many things to you, _Inquisitor."_

There was something dangerous in Hamish's eyes, a look that most likely resembled his own. "Then what are you waiting for, darling?"

Hamish could see Dorian's jaw clench with restraint, holding back all the nasty words he wanted to say. Fighting back was usually futile with Hamish - the Inquisitor always had something to say in response, some snarky comeback that infuriated most people. Dorian was no exception.

The hand on his throat tightened again as another hand shoved up his shirt, demanding, running over the slightly toned body, making Hamish's breath catch.

"You are awful," hissed Dorian, the hand moving up further to his nipple, pinching hard enough to make Hamish cry out before the sound faded into a moan. "What could I ever do to you that you wouldn't enjoy? What could I possibly do to hurt a fucking masochist?"

Hamish groaned as the hand moved to his other nipple, twisting and pinching the soft nub until it hardened.

"Why don't you find out?"

Something inside the Tevinter seemed to snap, as the man's muscles went taut moments before Hamish was shoved to the ground. He hissed as his knees collided with the hard stone, just as his vision cleared enough to see Dorian pulling at the belt around his own waist. He pulled it free in one swift movement, the slapping of leather sending a shiver down Hamish's body.

"You will be a good little Inquisitor, won't you Hamish? On your knees... You'll take as much of me as you can."

Hamish's mouth started to water as he realised what Dorian wanted, and his own lithe hands moved to grab the Tevinter's hips.

Leaning forward, he let his nose nuzzle against the noticeable bulge in Dorian's trous, a motion that evoked a low sound in Dorian's throat. Opening his mouth, he let his hot breath tease him further, so close to what the Tevinter wanted but hindered by the thin barrier of his clothes.

"Hamish," Dorian ground out harshly with a flex of his hips.

He lifted his head, smirking coyly up at the Tevinter. Undoing the laces of his trousers, Hamish tugged them down his toned hips aggressively, releasing Dorian's cock from its confinement.

Hamish let out a rush of air as he studied the delicious meal in front of him, but Dorian seemed to have other ideas.

One of those deadly hands grabbed the back of his head, tugging tight on the raven strands as he forced Hamish's head closer. Hamish gasped, the hands on Dorian's hips tightening as he mouthed along the base of Dorian's erection, the flesh hot and sweet against his lips.

"In your mouth, Inquisitor. Take it all."

 _No teasing tonight,_  thought Hamish with an internal smirk of glee. He opened his mouth and swallowed as much of the Tevinter as he could, the salty tang of pre-come lacing the back of his tongue as Hamish tried to manage the massive length pushing down his throat.

Dorian hummed above him as he began to fuck Hamish's mouth at a teasing pace, his fingers tightening in the Inquisitor's hair. Hamish sucked slightly, tightening his lips, and was rewarded with an involuntary groan from his lover.

"I prefer you on your knees," rasped Dorian, rolling his hips and causing Hamish to make some kind of noise in return.

He wanted to reply, but the only smart comment he could give would be through his tongue, and the Inquisitor decided to do just that. He relaxed his throat, moving downwards on the exhale until he felt Dorian slip past the threshold of his muscles. Hamish held him in his throat for as long as he could, relishing the long moan from above him. He glanced up as he pulled back, lavishing the tip with his tongue, letting it dance over the glans and through the slit.

Dorian's lips fell open as he took in the sight of Hamish beneath him. Silver-blue eyes dancing with utter delight, flushed, wet lips wrapped firmly around his cock, a lick of pink running over his sharp cheekbones. He was fucking obscene, and despite knowing he wasn't the only to have seen Hamish like this, he liked to believe that he was. Because the sight before him was deliciously filthy, and only Dorian deserved to have it - considering he put up with enough of Hamish's dramatic shit.

Hamish pulled back slightly, letting his bared teeth graze his cock ever so slightly as he retreated. It was a soft, deliberate action that reminded Dorian how dangerous Hamish truly was, how unpredictable and wild.

Removing his mouth with a pop, Hamish gripped at Dorian's hips tightly, a questioning expression on his face as he looked up at the Tevinter.

A small quirk of the eyebrow, and Dorian understood. With fistfuls of Hamish's hair still in his grip, Dorian tugged upwards harshly, ripping a startled moan from Hamish's glistening lips.

"Get up," he commanded with another jerk of his hands.

Hamish set his piercing eyes on the Tevinter before following the command, leaning back to gain his balance before standing gracefully. He gave Dorian a challenging look, knowing the magister had wanted him to stumble, but Hamish was still far too composed for the other's liking.

It was evident in the way Dorian grabbed two fistfuls of Hamish's shirt, yanking it open in a glorious display of strength, the shirt coming apart under his hands. Hamish groaned, rubbing his erection against Dorian's thighs, enamoured with the dark intentions written all over his lover's face.

Only the darkness evaporated and Hamish frowned. He opened his mouth but was stopped as a shiver of uncomfortable sensitivity ran down his shoulder.

Drawn to the feeling, Hamish turned his head and his black mood returned with a force. The green magic tearing at his flesh had been revealed, running down his entire left arm, up and over his shoulder. He knew what had stopped the Tevinter dead, and it was the sickening jade mark that had spread from his shoulder to his collarbone and up his neck.

"Hamish..."

Dorian's voice was so sickeningly sweet that it turned Hamish's body to stone.

"Shut up," Hamish hissed. "We're having sex, remember?"

Dorian shook his head slowly, his mouth pursing into a thin line. "It's worse, isn't it?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Hamish only nodded, his cheeks flushing at the Tevinter’s sympathetic stare. Scoffing, he whipped his face away from Dorian's, hating the way his eyes trailed along his broken, glowing skin with aggravating worry.

"Stop it!" he growled dangerously, Hamish's frustration only emphasised by the fear starting to claw up his throat.

Dorian's eyes widened as he stood there, still looking over the shredded remains of what was once pale, perfect skin.

"Stop it," he repeated, turning to the bed and putting his hands on the wooden frame. Dorian blinked, watching as Hamish's breathing became erratic. He knew the Inquisitor was one move away from lashing out, but before he could, the Tevinter had moved up behind him. He wrapped his hands around Hamish's waist, mouthing open kisses over his neck.

Hamish went taut underneath him, but Dorian was determined to have this. His hands moved down over Hamish's flat stomach, rolling over every muscle, tickling the soft, almost invisible trail of hairs down his naval.

"I won't let it kill you, Misha," he whispered against his skin, the proximity of their bodies giving him the confidence to show his affection. Hamish spluttered out a breath, but Dorian's hands had already started on the Inquisitor's buckles, pulling them apart with a tender accuracy.

"You are mine, _amatus,_  whether you admit it or not."

His hands slipped under the band of his tight leather trousers, pushing them over Hamish's prominent hips and over his flagging erection.

"And I will not let you go."

Hamish sucked in a strangled breath, too overcome with fear and panic, a lingering pool of warmth at the feel of Dorian on his back.

"Fuck you," replied the Inquisitor, his voice small and trembling.

Dorian's smile was forced, his worry sitting like a lead weight in his chest.

"As you wish, Inquisitor."

And with that, Dorian shoved Hamish forward, over the mattress as he finally moved the leathers past Hamish's tight, pale arse.

* * *

Alistair wandered through the upper courtyard in the late evening, still not yet accustomed to the sounds and sights of Skyhold. He was on his own, for now, as Fera worked with Dagna on upgrading their armor. Though he was "welcome to join,” he had never been one for smithing.

Therefore, he found himself alone in the dimming daylight, surrounded by workers who still (thankfully) had no idea who he was.

Past some stalls and up some stairs, he noticed a wooden sign hanging from a rustic building. It said, “Herald’s Rest” in jagged letters, a familiar invitation to come in and stay awhile.

After all, he recognized a tavern when he saw one.

The temptation was strong, to have a strong ale to calm his frayed nerves. Being surrounded by so many people was usually something of a comfort, but having to keep one eye over his shoulder the past few years had left him feeling far too exposed around them.

He turned and studied a small gazebo, adorned with flowers and a mountain of dying candles at the foot. Attached were pieces of parchment, names of people lost to the cause of the Inquisition. Alistair never got used to seeing the names of the dead, nor the loss they left. Feeling the melancholy threatening to drag him down into a foul mood, the bastard prince turned to leave the courtyard. He stepped towards what looked like a door leading back to the courtyard with every intention of returning to his quarters, when a thrilled coo caught his attention. He turned, noticing the reason for the small gathering of people.

His scowl was fierce as the Inquisitor's face broke through the crowd, and Alistair was taken back by the small smile on the kid's face.

As the Inquisitor's gaze flitted from follower to follower, obviously enjoying the attention, his steely eyes eventually shifted to Alistair's face. Immediately, the boy's smug expression faltered at the violent look on the templar's face, most likely remembering what had transpired the night before.

However, instead of ignoring the warrior and skulking away, the Inquisitor's smirk returned with full force, a menacing glint in his eyes. Brushing off his admirers, Hamish made a beeline for him, his posture confident and tense.

Alistair's hand instinctively moved to his hip, but his fingers didn't touch the familiar hilt of his blade and he cursed under his breath.

"Hello, handsome," said the Inquisitor smoothly, stopping a good few paces away. _Good move,_ thought Alistair bitterly, before squaring himself up for another bout of childish insults. He had a few stored away for just such an occasion.

"Inquisitor," he said slowly, expectantly. He half expected the boy's demeanour to drop and turn cold, but if anything the Inquisitor's smile got wider. It was unnerving.

"I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, so let's start again."

A gloved hand was thrust up to Alistair's body, hovering there. His honeyed eyes looked the kid over, waiting. It was scary how much the kid put him on edge, kind of like dealing with Morrigan again. And wasn't that a fun bloody experience?

"My name Is Hamish Trevelyan, Inquisitor of Skyhold," continued the boy without pause. "Welcome to my keep. It's a... _pleasure_ to meet you."

 _Pleasure_ was not the word that Alistair would have used, not in this sort of situation. Uncomfortable? Threatening? Absolutely.

With a suspicious narrow of his eyes, Alistair clutched Hamish's outstretched hand, giving his arm a good shake before immediately retracting, almost as if Hamish were some venomous snake.

Hamish could feel warmth bloom in the pit of his abdomen from the handshake - he could feel the restrained strength in the templar’s simple gesture, could see the tensed sinews of his biceps as he moved. It was shameless lusting, but Hamish didn't really care.

"I, uh," Alistair began, feeling his cheeks flush under the boy's lewd gaze. “I would like to... apologize.”

Hamish raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle as his eyes continued to run over every hidden curve of muscle he imagined bulged under those clothes.

"Really? And how would you like to do that, handsome?"

Alistair made some kind of spluttering sound and he blinked rapidly, the reaction so adorable that Hamish couldn't even call on his anger from the night before.

Alistair moved a hand to rub the back of his neck as he fumbled over his own breath, and Hamish couldn't stop a little image of that body throwing him all over the bedroom. Delicious.

"I, uh, there was a bit of - of misunderstanding, and I wanted to apologise for it, and -"

"Please, sweetheart, you're killing me," said Hamish around another chuckle, and Alistair narrowed his eyes again at the kid's mocking tone.

It wasn't exactly easy trying to apologise to a man who was openly laughing at him. It didn't stop the blush blazing a trail down his neck, though.

Alistair pursed his lips together, obviously trying to hold back some snarky, sarcastic comment. It was an expression Hamish had seen many times from Dorian, and somehow, it was even more amusing on the templar.

“At any rate, I accept your apology, darling,” Hamish laughed before Alistair could retort, sparing the man from more ridiculous sputtering.

“Thank you,” Alistair sighed, seeming thankful and relieved and exhausted. “Now that we’re all settled, I think I’ll retire for-”

“Fancy a drink, Alistair?” Hamish interrupted, his voice oozing sweetness. “My treat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! We have A LOT planned for this story (and think we're quite clever, actually) so hopefully you'll stick around! <3


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